Her Eyes
by nadagio
Summary: Her eyes followed him into death. Darkish. Complete. SS,HG.
1. H

**Her Eyes**

* * *

><p>He was drawn to her from the beginning. Yes, since the very first time he saw her, just a little first-year brat, overeager to give him answers.<p>

How could he not have noticed her? The chit was obnoxious in her attempts to show off her knowledge, actually standing from her seat to wave her chubby little arm just that much higher.

But it should have been easy to dismiss her as an overconfident, know-it-all braggart. There's always at least one each year. That one student who _has_ to interrupt the class to ask irrelevant questions, simply has to be the one to answer his. One who makes all the other students roll their eyes and snicker, one who has no friends except when it comes time to turn in an assignment or study for a test.

Most teachers respond by being either desperately relieved to find _one_ student eager to learn and participate, a bright jewel in a bed of coal, or as annoyed as everyone else but forced to hide it. He doesn't bother to hide his impatient disdain for those students.

But something was different about _her_. Oh, he acted just as dismissive of her as he does of anyone else at first, was just as cruel.

Yet... he saw something, something in her eyes.

It wasn't the arrogant glint he expected. Instead, it was something that spoke of desperation. Of helpless entreaty. _Look at me_, they seemed to say. _Accept me. Save me._ On the brink between sanity and madness. Between functionally normal and completely disengaged from the world.

He had always been a natural empath. Sensitive to the emotions of those around him, an unconscious legilimens. Most would never have guessed it, but before he'd learned to distance himself, built a wall... well, they'd called him "Snivellus" for a reason.

So what he saw in her resonated in him deeply. And in a sea of wary, hostile, stubborn, and distant faces, this girl was looking at him with _worship._ So desperate to connect, she was freely giving him power over her very mind and soul.

He felt a rush of adrenaline just thinking of that power.

All she needed was his approval, his assurance and confirmation. A nod, a small smile, a word of praise.

That's all she needed.

Nothing else.

.

She wouldn't get it.


	2. m

He denied her, and so she continued to worship him.

Let the other teachers lavish her useless praise, he thought, until she's so accustomed as to disregard it. She won't believe it, because she won't have _his_.

He felt a moment's concern when she attained genuine friendship with those dunderheads, Potter and Weasley. Some of that desperation faded. She stepped back from the brink.

He feared she wouldn't need him any longer.

But his fears proved unfounded. Though slightly smaller and better hidden, there remained a great chasm of insecurity in her mind that she sought to fill with his approval. Her friends kept her from being completely lost, but as long as _he_ refused to acknowledge her worth... him, a respected authority figure... there was too much room to doubt.

What if the others are only fooled, she must have thought. What if he is the only one who really understands her. Sees her know-it-all front as the sham it really is, made possible only by countless hours of obsessive study. Reading and re-reading. A truly _clever_ girl wouldn't need to try so hard.

She tried so hard.

.

And so it went. For years.

She did everything she could to earn his praise. He withheld it. And not only that, he did his best to cut her down. Insulted her at every opportunity and deliberately gave her lower marks than she deserved. Anything, not to give even a hint that he appreciated her. Although he did.

Because each desperate, tortured look from her was a stinging palliative to the hole in his own heart. He took sadistic joy in her pain.


	3. r

Things abruptly changed, her sixth year.

.

He was in an exceptionally bad mood when she came to his office one evening. Trying to mark papers, he was instead brooding about the impossible tasks he'd been set. When she knocked, he upset a bottle of ink and snarled at her to come in while cleaning up the resulting mess.

She wanted tutoring in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"It's my worst subject," she said, and he could tell how much it pained her to admit it, especially now that he was the instructor. "But I know it's the most important."

He muttered something to the effect that he doesn't waste time on helpless causes. Nothing too upsetting, he thought, no worse than anything he'd said to her previously. But suddenly she was kneeling at his feet in tears. Eyes wild. That chasm bared. The stress and fear of the past months crushing her.

"Sir, _please_!" she cried. "What do I have to _do_...!"

He held himself perfectly still, breath caught as her fingers tangled in the folds of his robes.

Her face was beautiful in its distress. Contorted and red. And those _eyes_.

Those worshiping eyes.

Seemingly of its own accord, a hand rose to caress her cheek and tucked away some of that boundless hair to better reveal those eyes.

They widened. Her gaze sharpened. Her expression eased into relaxed contentment as her hands released their grip on his robes, slowly crept from his shins to his knees to his thighs.

The next minutes were an out of body experience. Hazy and sensual. Was it real?

When he finally came back to himself, she was staring at him more adoringly than usual.

He realized he was _smiling_, and quickly disciplined his lips to return to their customary sneer.

Shit, he thought. He had ruined everything.

He was extra cruel, then. He threw her out after a savage, verbal attack on her character and skill. Her hurt confusion thrilled as much as it pained him.

.

After, things seemed to return to normal. She was still desperate for his approval as ever. He was immensely relieved. He hadn't ruined her.

.

And she returned to his office.


	4. E

Their encounters were brief. Impersonal by anyone's standards, but they satisfied something primal in the both of them.

He discovered that small gestures of praise—a smile or caress—far from ruining her, solidified her worship, kept her desperate for more.

She was beautiful.


	5. y

The night came when he had to fulfill his promises.

.

He had just stunned Flitwick and was rushing from his office when she grabbed hold of his sleeve, stopped him.

He was on edge. Afraid, worried, angry that it had come to this. A jumble of conflicting, tormenting thoughts and emotions. So many things were on his mind other than her.

"Sir..." she whispered. Those eyes, adoring. Worshipful.

_Pathetic._

Very suddenly he couldn't stand her. Or her thrice-damned, needy eyes.

"What?" he hissed. "What could you possible need now, girl? A quick shag?"

She gasped and released him, eyes darting nervously to the blond Ravenclaw nearby. He was beyond caring if they had an audience.

"_Regrettably_, there are more important tasks I must attend to than satisfying your pitiful need for reassurance. Find another to provide you your pity fuck. It shouldn't be difficult. Behind that ridiculous hair and obsequious attitude you're a reasonably attractive girl, and there are certainly enough hormonal brutes around willing to soothe your pathetic, fragile soul in exchange for sexual favors."

Her eyes were wide, hurt, and for once he felt only disgust. He didn't have the time!

"Merlin, this is _war_. You are so insignificant in the face of all that must happen, and so laughably unprepared. It will _break_ you if you're not strong."

Without another word or thought, he turned and practically ran from the dungeons.

Leaving her behind.

Already broken.

.


	6. 3

The next time he saw her, he was dying.

.

Blood gushing from the wound on his neck, he wordlessly expelled the necessary memories from his every orifice so that he might finish the final task he'd been set. Potter dutifully gathered them all.

Behind the boy, she stood. Impassive. Not even watching as he faded from the world.

"Look... at... me..." he begged.

She obliged, but her eyes were cold. Distant. Hard. They held none of the adoration or worship he had relied on. None of the comfort.

It hurt far more than the snakebite.

.

Mercifully, he soon fell unconscious.


	7. s

When he woke, he was still lying on that filthy, wooden floor.

He was weak, but by some miracle still living. He struggled to sit upright and lean against a wall. He opened his eyes and saw her standing there across the room, watching him consideringly.

"Oh good, you're awake," she said, tone flat.

He opened his mouth to respond but only managed to choke painfully, coughing red. No talking for him, then.

"I tried to keep you alive, at least," she said. "I wasn't sure it would work. You did lose an awful lot of blood."

She smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was frigid, with a hint of mania. Her eyes were just as cold, just as mad.

She'd reached the brink again, he thought, and stepped across it.

"You see, _sir_, I couldn't let you die... not before I thanked you."

She approached him, knelt beside him. Caressed his cheek, and the smile turned mocking.

"I've done a lot of thinking, this past year. And I've decided you deserve my gratitude. I _was_ pathetic, hanging on your every word and hoping desperately for any gesture of approval. But you cured me of that. You made me _strong_."

She placed her lips on his bloody mouth in a gentle, farewell kiss.

"Thank you."

Those _eyes_. So empty.

He was grateful when she removed the spell keeping his wound patched closed with a flick of her wand.

He bled out in moments.

.

Her eyes followed him into death.

.

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><p><strong>Fin.<strong>

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><p><strong>AN**:You can decide for yourself if she already knew about his "innocence" in the last scene.

It seems a bit silly dividing such a short thing into so many small chapters, but I thought it needed more space/pause.

Hope you enjoyed and the writing style didn't drive you mad. Feedback is appreciated.


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